My Painting of Me
by WriterGreenReads
Summary: Everyone one agrees that America and Italy are clueless and not that smart. They certainty act like it. But are they really? Oneshot-may be continued.


**So, I've had this idea bouncing around for a while, and I finally got it down! YAY.**

 **Disclaimer: If I owned Hetalia, I wouldn't be writing fanfiction about it. Duh. I don't.**

* * *

The World Conference had been complete chaos, as usual.

America strolled out of the building and into the parking lot, tugging his tie loose as he did so. He really didn't mind wearing the suit so much, but it _was_ awfully hot out. The evening sun beat down on the picturesque French landscape, cutting sharp shadows across the ground.

"America!"

America sighed a bit to himself and turned at the familiar call of a certain Englishman, plastering a huge grin on his face. England caught up to him in a few quick strides, a ghost of his customary scowl present among his features.

"Where are you going?" the blond nation demanded, looking a bit ruffled. France must have made a pass at him. "I thought that you would be the first to jump at the party those idiots are throwing." His green eyes narrowed in a pained grimace at the thought of Spain, Prussia and France's previous parties.

America chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Actually, I had some sick video games back at the hotel I wanted to try!" he said brightly. "And I hear that tonight they're catering hamburgers too!" America let out his trademark laugh, slapping England on the back, causing the shorter nation to stumble forwards a step. "But don't worry Artie; the HERO will come another time! Can't leave you all lonely, can I?"

England straightened his suit jacket and rolled his eyes, annoyed. "Fine," he sighed. "Try not to be too much of an idiot- if you think you can handle that for a few hours. Not even you can mess _everything_ up." With that final oh-so-kind remark, the representation of the United Kingdom turned sharply on his heel and headed over to where his own car was parked.

America watched him go, the cheerful smile fading as the other nation walked out of sight. Turning back around, America walked swiftly out of the parking lot. Unnoticed to the rest of the nations, instead of turning right to go back to the hotel, he turned left, mixing with the pedestrians.

* * *

"West!"

"Lovi!"

Germany groaned as he was tackled in a flying hug by his older brother. Romano cursed fluidly in Italian, having been put in a similar situation by an adoring Spain.

" _Buonasera_!" Italy said happily, giving Spain a hug the instant the Spanish nation let go of his brother. Spain laughed and ruffled Italy's hair affectionately.

" _Hola amigos!_ " Spain said, green eyes sparkling mischievously.

" _Ost,_ let go of me." Germany sighed. Prussia unwrapped his arms and legs from the blond German nation, cackling.

"You three get to come with my awesome self and my awesome friends to go to a party." Prussia said gleefully, not letting go of Germany's arm. "Come on West! We'll have BEER."

"We're not going anywhere with you _idioti_ ," Romano snapped, trying to pull away from Spain, who had glomped him again. "Every time we do, some shit happens, and we all end up in trouble!"

"But _Loviiii…_ "

"Don't call me that, _pomodoro bastardo!_ "

"I think we should go! Come on _fratello_ , Germany, it'll be fun! We can all have pasta!"

Emboldened by Italy's agreement with their plan, the two thirds of the Bad Touch Trio pleaded shamelessly, pulling their best puppy dog eyes on the hapless duo. Getting a very weak and tentative agreement after a few minutes of this, the two triumphant nations dragged their respective captives off down the street, chattering the whole time.

Italy followed for a while, keeping up his mindless babble. As soon as he saw they were all fully focused on each other, he paused in his step, letting them get further away before turning and heading in a completely different direction.

He had a meeting to keep.

* * *

America and Italy met up with each other at exactly 8:00, when the sun was started to make its slow progress down the heavens.

The North American nation was sitting on a wooden bench in the park they had agreed upon earlier. He tapped his fingers absentmindedly against the railing, watching a few birds as they winged their way across the rosy-tinted sky. He had changed out of his suit from earlier. America would have been barely recognizable to most of the other nations in neat slacks and a button down, bereft of his normal bomber jacket. He looked up as the Italian made his way over to him.

"Evening," the American greeted, smiling at his friend. "Did you lose them?"

Italy laughed slightly. His hands were in his pockets.

"Yes," he answered, a small smile on his face. "Gilbert and Antonio dragged them off to some party they and Francis were having. It wasn't too hard."

America nodded as he stood up, stretching his back. The evening sun glinted off his glasses rims. The two of them fell in step with each other as they walked down the beaten dirt path. "So, where do you want to go tonight?" the blond nation asked, slipping effortlessly into Italian.

Italy flashed him a mischievous look. "Don't you want a hamburger?" he asked teasingly, responding in kind.

America made a disgusted face. "Oh, God no. Stuffing myself with those once every World Conference is quite enough for me, thank you very much. Does the rest of the world honestly think that's all we eat?" America scoffed and shook his head. "Sometimes I think they forget that I have all of their cultures too."

"Well, I do know of a nice little restaurant about a 15 minutes' walk from here," Italy interjected. He waved his hand in a specific direction. "The food's delicious, and it's not too busy this time of day."

"Sounds great to me."

They walked in a comfortable silence for a few minutes, enjoying each other's company.

"So…" America brought up. "How's it been going with Ludwig and Kiku lately?"

All the nations were acquainted with each other to a certain extent, but alliances between countries allowed the personifications to get to know each other more personally, for better or for worse. Even though the Axis had generally been hailed as the "bad" side of World War Two, considering the problems with leadership each of their countries had had, the three representatives still had a surprisingly close relationship today. They were more along the lines of very good friends, rather than just former allies.

Italy shrugged. "I haven't seen Kiku as much lately, but Ludwig definitely close!" A warm smile lit up his features. This faded after a moment, as the Italian nation seemed to think inwards a bit.

"Although… I don't know if he even notices me sometimes. It's kind of like I'm just _there_ , and he's… just tolerating me. Kiku too." He paused for a second.

"Alfred, do you think they act that way because they both still think I'm just an airheaded coward?"

A little startled at the question, America glanced sideways at his companion. Italy had stopped, looking a little dejected. America sighed, slowing to a stop on the side of the path.

"I don't know, Feli," he admitted. "But you act like you do for a reason, the same reason I pretend to be an obnoxious moron every time I see one of the nations. It's safer."

After considering that for a moment, Italy nodded and started walking again. "Speaking of which," the Italian nation added. "How's your little act coming? Does anyone besides me actually know?"

America frowned thoughtfully.

"I don't think so…" he said slowly. "Well, I know that Russia knows somewhat. He started suspecting that I wasn't as stupid as I looked during the Cold War. Japan probably has an idea as well." He snorted. "Honestly, I'm surprised more of them haven't figured it out. Do they think I came out on top in two World Wars by screaming -I'm the Hero!-?"

Italy winced slightly at the memories. That hadn't been a fun time for anyone.

The two companions had arrived at the restaurant by now. Italy had been right; it was a small, fairly reclusive establishment. However, it was clean, cozy, and well-lit, and the patron was very friendly.

Taking a small table near the back, the two nations continued their conversation. A waitress came over in a minute and took their orders. Italy smiled to himself as he watched his American friend order in fluent-near flawless -French, conversing rapidly with the good-natured women. He didn't understand how anyone could think that this man wasn't intelligent. America knew more languages than any other nation because of his immigrant population. He just stuck with English because that was what he was most comfortable with. Italy's smile grew wider as he remembered the time that his friend had shown his language skills to him, finishing the demonstration off with a pitch-perfect imitation of England's accent.

After the waitress had left, America turned back to the Italian nation, raising an eyebrow when he saw the smirk that had drawn itself over Italy's face. "What?"

Italy shook his head, laughing. "Nothing."

The food _was_ delicious. Italy and America both ate with gusto, though not as much as the other nations thought they would have. America grinned when he saw the Italian had ordered a savory meat dish. "No pasta?" he asked, returning the earlier gibe. Italy just rolled his eyes. French food was fabulous, and he didn't eat pasta all the time, like everyone thought. And besides, he preferred his own pasta recipes.

The talk turned to football for a while, with Italy telling about his team's success with great enthusiasm. America laughed to himself as his friend continued animatedly about plays and goals, and who was currently beating whom. Everyone thought that Italy was a wimp, but he was _ruthless_ on the field with a ball at his feet. (At bit like his own brother when he was playing hockey) America had found out a little while ago that Italy secretly played for his own national team. He had watched him play a game or two, and had been amazed at the Italian's skill. _Man,_ was he fast! And everyone else thought it was because of all the times Italy had retreated…

Silly them.

It had grown dark by the time the two of them were out of the restaurant. They wandered about the streets for a while in the cool air. No one really paid them much attention.

"You know, Alfred," Italy said. The nations had stopped on a bridge, and were looking out onto a river that flowed smoothly like glittering silver silk beneath them. "I've been thinking about this act we do, day in, day out."

"Hmm?"

Italy scratched the stone railing with his forefinger, thinking. "Well, people look at us, and they think they see us. They think they know exactly who we are, and so they go on, content in their knowledge. But really…" he cocked his head to the side, a contemplative look on his face. "They just see our painting, don't they?"

America thought that over for a second. "What do you mean?"

"Well…" Italy turned, bracing his back against the railing with his hands in his pockets. He waved a hand at the North American nation in a swooping gesture. "They might look at you, and see a bright yellow of joy as your background. Mixing with that are a red swirls of passion, bold blue strokes of confidence… Maybe a little lavender for cluelessness." He paused. "That could go for me as well, but instead of dauntless blue and red, they'll see the splatters of white cowardice, maybe some sharp edges of orange fear." Italy smiled sadly.

"But they don't look further. They don't try to see past this painting of ourselves that we put up. They don't try to see who we _really_ are."

America breathed out a sigh into the still air. "I guess you're right." He turned around and rested in the same position as the other nation. "You know Feli, you're really smart when it comes to things like this."

He heard a cheerful laugh from his friend. "I try."

A chiming sound from a phone broke the silence. Italy blinked. He dug a hand in his pocket and pulled out his phone. He checked the display screen, the artificial glow lending a harsh cast to his features. The Italian nation sighed. "It's Ludwig. I've got 10 unread messages and he's frantic. They think they lost me." He chuckled sheepishly. "I guess I was pretty engaged."

"Hey, no worries." America shrugged. "Where are they? We can go over together."

"Good idea," agreed Italy, slipping his phone back into his pocket. "I can say that I got lost. Sound about right?" He started off down the bridge. "Luddy said that they were down at the plaza."

The two of them made it back to the plaza in record time. They both stopped behind a building when they saw a familiar group of nations crowded around the fountain in the middle. Italy cautiously peeked out from behind the corner. Germany was waving his arms, and it was looking like he was berating a very scared Bad Touch Trio. He turned back to America.

"Thanks for doing this again. It was fun!"

America slapped him on the back, grinning. "I'll call you, okay?"

They stepped out in different directions; Italy towards the squabbling group, and America on route back to the hotel.

They had each put their painting back on.

* * *

 **Okay, that's a wrap! Actually, if someone requests, I might make this into a two or three shot. Does anybody think that the other nations finding out that America and Italy are actually smart sounds like a good idea?**

 **Please Review! Seriously, I love those things. They make me feel all warm and fuzzy inside.**


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